Tales From the Rebels
by Still Bullet
Summary: As the title implies, series of short stories based on a rebel's point of view and what they are going through. Most Recent: Two rebels wander around the coast in search of a rebel camp, talking about how life used to be before the Combine invasion.
1. Welcome to the Resistance

_Hey guys! Before I say anything else, I want to thank you guys so much for all the reviews you have given me. They help me out so much, and I can't even begin to describe how happy I feel when I get them! Thank you so much!_

_That being said, I present to you a new series I've been wanting to do for a long time, now. This series is sort of like "Echoes of a Renonsance Cascade", by that I mean it will be a collection of short stories, all told from a rebel's point of view, as the title implies. I hope you will enjoy it!_

**_Based on: Half-Life 2 (Valve)  
Rating: K+ for some (very) slight violence.  
Author's Notes: Think of this as a little example of how I plan to write the series. I don't plan on using any journal entries as an introduction, more-so just stories that tells about a rebel and what they're going through. This story's actually pretty short--by that I mean only about 2,300 words._**

**_--_**

"Let me assure you that the suppressing field will be shut off the day that we have mastered ourselves…the day we can prove we no longer need it. And that day of transformation, I have it on good authority, is close at hand."

The woman sighed to herself as she was finally glad that the never-ending cycle of Doctor Breen's faked soothing words had taken a break to show the Combine's logo once again. She didn't know how many times she has heard that Breencast before, but that's all that was playing for the past few days now. She could basically recite the entire thing herself if she really wanted to, but she was still so sick of hearing it.

That television set and its never ending propaganda was actually the only voice that even talked to her, anymore. Everyone else was taken by a raid by some Metro Cops, but lucky for her she was busy getting that bag of crap they call food at the time. She came back to notice her roommates gone, one of them being her husband.

She didn't know why she just stayed here after she realized everything was gone. The disappearance of her husband was all the more reason to escape City Seventeen, yet she couldn't leave. She couldn't figure out why. Maybe fear had finally corrupted her mind—it was pretty hard to sleep at night, now, without the comfort she got from the others. She felt like a child again, wanting to sleep in her parents' bed after having a bad dream.

Of course, this wasn't a bad dream. This happened to be what had happened to her life. She couldn't really remember anything about her life twenty years ago; the only thing she could remember was her wedding day. Even that was slowly drifting into fog each day she sat here alone.

She sighed as she gently patted the knee of one of her crossed legs. The Combine's logo soon disappeared from the television, letting Doctor Breen's smiling face take the screen once again.

"Let me read a letter I recently received. 'Dear Doctor Breen: Why has the…_Combine_…seen to fit to suppress our reproductive cycle? Sincerely, A Concerned Citizen."

The way he said that one word made the woman laugh, followed by a slight grunt.

Combine…the way he said it sounded so funny; it was as if he wasn't sure if that really was the name for those creatures. It was as if she was back in middle school, and Doctor Breen was another one of her substitute teachers that could never figure out how to say her last name, adjusting their glasses as they tried to say each syllable as correctly as they could.

_San…Sino…look, I can't say your last name. Just let me know if you're here or not._

She just smiled to herself as that piece of imagery floated past her mind.

Doctor Breen continued his little propaganda, acting motivational and as though everything was fine and shall forever be fine.

She let a little grunt pass her lips as she began to tap her boot on the broken wooden floor. She was just about tired of listening to this. It was as if it was beginning to brainwash her. That's all she could think about at the moment: _The Combine are here to help us overcome our 'instincts'._

"Just shut up."

She acted as though saying those three words to the air would do something. She acted as though it would just end this, all of this, take life back to the way it used to be. Although, it was obvious nothing would happen. Doctor Breen just continued with his little speech, making hand gestures and trying to act as though he understood.

"Just…shut up."

She rose from her chair, now, standing still yet tall. Her mind just sort of went in an auto-pilot mode, it just seemed. It felt empty, yet for some reason it had a goal it kept grasped inside her head. Looks like that goal was about to be reached.

She simply walked over to the television, her breaths coming in short yet deep intervals. She took one look at the set before her, dull blue eyes whose irises had faded to gray focused directly on the screen. Everything was quiet for a moment. Then everything went hectic.

Without seeming to have any second thoughts, she flipped the table over. The television's plug snapped from its outlet, creating a short yet bright spark before it tumbled to the floor. Its glass screen cracked as it hit directly with the corner of a raised board of wood, however it kept itself from shattering. She just stood there and stared at it, her breaths slightly harder than they were before. Then the silence came back to wrap itself around the lonely being yet again.

She didn't know how long she just stood there. It seemed like ten minutes, but to her it felt like days and years had gone by. She sighed as she thought she felt her lips quiver. One of the Combine's regulations was no loud noises after six o'clock. Well, that crash was loud, but she couldn't figure out what time it was. The clock over on the kitchen wall didn't tell her any answers; the hands stopped moving a long time ago, so it said it was a few minutes away from nine o'clock all the time.

Maybe time just wasn't moving. Maybe that's why she just stayed here—it was because her soul was frozen in time. Her body was just lifeless, yet somehow it was able to move. She couldn't exactly grasp that.

She thought she heard herself let out a gasp as though she was about to cry. Her eyes squinted as she noticed her vision was getting blurry—she was beginning to cry, alright.

A few moments passed as the tears forced their way through her squinted eyes. She took another deep breath from sadness, as she continued to stand there.

"Stop it."

She couldn't figure out who she was saying that to. Maybe it was to the world, maybe it was to her. She didn't want to cry. Maybe that's what she was doing—telling herself to stop crying all together. Or maybe she was telling the world to leave her alone, leave _us _alone; let life go back to the way it was.

That didn't seem possible anymore, however. She lived through twenty years of this. She was hoping she would be able to start life anew with her husband, having a family…

Something banged against the door, interrupting her thoughts. The sounds were so loud, she almost mistaken it for thunder.

"Open up!" Shouts were soon on the other side of the door, followed by the sound of something pounding once again. The woman sighed as she tried to hold in her tears. She most likely looked terrible, but it didn't matter in the slightest—you could be bleeding to death and the Combine wouldn't care. That's just the way they wanted it to be.

"Yes?" She said the words so weakly that it wasn't surprising that the cops didn't seem to hear it. They just kept pounding the door, continuously demanding her to open it. She finally began to move her legs, feeling weaker and weaker with every step she took. Maybe she was just nervous. Or maybe she was just sick to her stomach.

She cracked the door open a little, only enough so that a small portion of her face could be seen.

"Yes?" She repeated again. She hated looking at the Combine directly; it just felt so…wrong, to her. Here she was, looking at someone once human, who gave in to help build the horrible future they say is for the better of mankind. She didn't know what they were thinking. She didn't know what _she _was thinking.

Metro Cops never talked. They always used their stun sticks to do that. One of the cops pushed the door open, nearly making her fall over. They walked right in, with one of them pointing to corners of the tenement and giving commands that seemed to be just a bunch of numbers to her. There were only two others with him, yet it seemed like more than they needed for…whatever they were going to do to her.

She stood there as she watched the others ran around the house, with the commanding one standing still before her. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. She was just given a chance to run away, but that might result in hot lead meeting with her flesh. Looks like fear really did corrupt her mind, now. One of the cops kicked the broken television in order to flip it over, saying a bunch of numbers towards the commanding cop. She didn't understand it once again, but the way he said it made him seem angry about it.

She didn't even have to think about the rest—she knew what was going to happen to her. The cop that was standing still the entire time removed his stun stick from his belt, snapping it on and looking as though he was ready to beat her down.

This time she knew fear was beginning to take over her mind. She slowly slipped back as she looked around, trying to find somewhere to escape. The two other cops followed the first one's example, and unclipped their stun sticks as well. They slowly backed her into a corner, making her come to a realization that she was stuck and there was no way she was escaping their grasp. They came at her so slowly, however; it was as if they enjoyed the emotional damage they were causing her.

She wanted to scream at them to just get it over with. She just wanted them to do whatever the hell they wanted to—it didn't matter what it was. They could kill her or take her away, she had no reason to be here anymore, anyway.

Then she felt something slip under her hand. It wasn't really much—it was nothing but a worn-out boot. But that gave her an idea.

She didn't know what exactly made her do it. But she was just about tired of having the Combine boss her around. She grabbed the boot and wacked the cop closest to her, right across his forearm. The force wasn't so strong, so all the cop really did was flinch, but that was just enough for her to tear his stun stick right out from his hand. This might have been the first time in her life she has ever held a weapon before. But that didn't matter in the slightest.

Without giving the cops a chance to even figure out what was going on, she took a swing at the one she had stolen the stun stick from. He fell to the ground with an electronic scream, his radio listing off his location after its bio signs seemed to go flat. The other cops made frantic cries to each other as one made another swing at her. She blocked the attack with her own stun stick, sparks flying around as they just barely missed her face. She pushed the cop out of the way and took a swing directly for his head, letting a scream followed by a crack of his mask be heard before the body hit the ground.

The other cop seemed to be showing fear, now. How ironic _that_ was. She was the one being afraid this entire time, and now she was in control. The cop seemed to be reaching for its belt, but she stopped him short. She laughed to herself as the cop fell down with the others, noticing he was trying to reach his pistol this entire time.

At that moment, everything seemed still. She took a long, good glance of the three bodies before her, turning off the stolen stun stick and placing it onto the floor beside her. Did she really just do that? Did she really just kill three of the Combine?

There was no point of denying it now. She had killed them, alright—the blood and bodies was enough to prove it. She thought she felt a smile crack up her lips, as the destruction before her pleased her.

She kneeled beside one of the corpses, looking right into the golden-tinted goggles. It wasn't so hard to look at them directly, anymore. Courage seemed to fill her heart now, something she hadn't felt in years.

Why she did what she did next was something she couldn't figure out. She unbuckled the two belts of the cop, placing it around her waist, now. Then she removed the vest from the corpse, placing it on herself. It felt good to her, for some reason. This vest was something that kept her mind thinking about what she just did. It was…proof, that what happened actually did happen. It was proof that she really did kill those three cops.

It was proof that she was now a rebel.

She let a giggle pass through her lips as she felt the side of the belt, finding a holstered pistol. She picked up the stun stick again, attaching it to the belt.

Now all she needed was a lambda, and her outfit would be complete.

She took a nice, deep breath, as the silence seemed to stick around her. The air seemed different, now. It had a new, crisp odor, something she never seemed to have smelled before. Then she realized what it was.

"Smell that?" she asked herself, letting the question drift in the air before she continued.

"It's freedom."

--

_Oh yes. I ended it with that really cheesy line._

_This is another one of those stories that totally changes when it comes to writing them. I orginally planned for the woman to be running away, and someone else saved her, but that sounded too much like "Enlightenment". Then I thought that a couple of rebels would make it to her tenement after she killed them and tell her to put on the vest, but then I thought it would be better if she realized on her own that she was a rebel. Kind of funny...I didn't know that the rebel's vests were from CP's until I was watching my friend play one of the episodes and noticed "C17" on the back of their vests._

_And I don't know about you, but I hate it when subs can't figure out how to pronouce my name. My last name's easy, but my first name is four freakin' letters, and still people can't figure out how to say it...or even spell it!_

_So, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and stay tuned for more updates to the new series!_


	2. Fun With Sheckley and Griggs

_Hello again, guys! Wow, another story in a few days...seriously surprised myself with this one. Not only because I still have writer's block, but because of how fast I'm writing things...this isn't like me!_

_Anyway, I was seriously debating on whether or not I should put a Sheckley and Griggs story with "Tales From The Rebels", since I wanted the series to be rebels you've never heard about and those who've never interacted with Freeman's gang before, but after thinking about it, I thought that I'd rather have it here than have it as a stand-alone one-shot. Anyway, this story is seriously short--little over 1,100 words--but for some reason my writer's block decided to leave me alone when it came to dialouge, but annoy the crap out of me when it came to explaining people's emotions._

_Either way, this came out decent. Not amazing in my tastes, but decent. Here it is, anyway--hope you guys like it!  
By the way, this was seriously inspired by Lunaros' "Be Adequate!", which is a better Sheckley and Griggs story than I hope to ever do. Be sure to check her's out, too!_

_PS-Hope you're doing ok, Spartan-IV and Mintail. Take your time with the stories!_

_Anyway, enough stalling!_

**_Based On: Half-Life 2: Episode 2 (Valve)  
Rating: K+. The story itself is fine, however I think that since the game is rated Mature (17 and older), that basically kicks the rating up to K+ at the least.  
Author's Notes: While Episode One remains as my favorite episode, Sheckley and Griggs will always be stuck in my head as the two best rebels you'll ever come across...ever. I love the whole defending mission with them, and they're so damn funny! Episode Two was ok, I just thought that it was basically "drive, ambush, drive, ambush, drive, ambush". It was still cool either way, and I haven't written anything for it, so I wrote this!  
This came to me in a blast like most of my fanfictions do--really surprised me, there. As I said in "Murder"'s description, I was trying to write this, but only got one sentance done before my writer's block kicked in. I brought this up a few minutes ago just to see it, and yet for some reason I couldn't stop writing. Not as detailed as I had hoped, but I hope it's funny enough!_**

--

"Hey, Sheckley?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Sheckley!"  
"What, Griggs?"  
"Sheckley!"  
"What, Griggs, _what_?"

For a moment a spot of silence interrupted the conversation. The old medic let a quick wince escape his lips as the reaction of his partner seemed to startle him.

"What d'ya think would happen if I threw this rock down the gap?" He pointed to the small rock contained within his fist, quickly tossing it upwards and catching it, as he jerked his head towards the gap between the elevator shaft and the floor, which he was only a few step away from. Sheckley rolled his eyes, tapping his boot with the tip of the muzzle of his SMG as he sat on the railing above Griggs.

"I'm pretty sure that it would fall, Griggs," he muttered, a hint of annoyance creeping past his voice. He could see the edges of Griggs' lips tilt downward.

"Gee, couldn't get a more creative answer than that?" He kicked the side of the metal supports to the elevator shaft, creating a soft bang that echoed in the large pit they like to call the "Hell-Hole".

"What, what'd you want me to say?" Sheckley exclaimed, raising his arms as though he was shrugging, SMG still tightly in hand. "That it'll glow blue and a portal to Muffin World will open up?" The medic tossed the rock towards the rebel in a playful way, although his face showed an expression that looked sour. He missed, and the two watched as the rock hit the wall below Sheckley's feet and drop back onto the tilted metal grating floor that Griggs was close to.

"Speakin' of portals, can't we just leave now?" Griggs gently gripped his SMG close to his chest as he asked the question. "I mean, the elevator's fixed, n' everything. I don't even wanna _think _about how many more antlions are left, wanting to kill us all. And if they don't kill us, than that super portal will."

"Which is why we helped Doctor Freeman and Miss Vance before," Sheckley responded, hopping off the railing and landing with a grunt escaping from his lips. "They're supposed to close that thing up, apparently."

"Well, so?" Sheckley could have sworn he saw Griggs shiver for a moment. "That still doesn't give us a reason to stay here!" Sheckley groaned, looking up towards the opening in the ceiling, letting the soft blue-tinted light pour onto his skin.

"Griggs, can you tell me something?"  
"Yeah, what?"  
"Do you remember…what happened after Freeman left?" He was talking in a low voice, now, as though he was trying to comfort a lonely child. Griggs gripped the tip of his chin with his thumb and index finger.  
"Well, uh, let's see…those other Vorts left to go find those slug-things—"  
"Advisors."  
"Yeah, those…and they told us to stay here." Sheckley nodded, although his eyes managed to show that he was only taunting Griggs.  
"Yes, Griggsy," Sheckley began, walking closer towards his partner. "And _why _did they tell us to stay here?"

Griggs seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. The old rebel watched as the medic's eyes rolled back into his head, as though he was trying to physically search his memory for the answer. Sheckley thought he could feel his face beginning to feel warm, as anger slipped past his mind for a moment.

"For god's sake, Griggs, did an antlion tear out your brain, or something? They told us to wait here in case more rebels come by!" He punched the side of Griggs' arm, although gently. Griggs just patted the freshly-formed bruise with his free hand.

"Well, _sor_-ry!" he shouted, as the fight continued to reach a low point in its maturity level. "It's hard to listen when your mind's trying to brace itself for another antlion horde, you know!"

"Griggs, in case you haven't noticed, there hasn't even been one _single _antlion that found its way in here since Freeman left!" Sheckley made a quick jerk of his head towards the tunnels, unlit lights standing in a vertical line next to each of them. No alarms or red lights _had _gone off since Freeman left, and since then Sheckley and Griggs managed to move the remaining corpses of the bug-like creatures out of the way and shoved them into one of the tunnels. It was the one they called "The Breach", to be exact, while the other tunnels were already filled with antlions that were shot down from their invasions when Freeman was helping them. Griggs' mouth slightly gaped open, which he quickly closed once his eyebrows began to narrow.

"Yeah…yeah, you're right about that," he said weakly, although the tone of his voice sounding doubtful. Sheckley shook his head as he crossed his arms, walking over towards the wall and leaning his weight onto it. "But…no rebels have come by at all, either."

"Well…" Sheckley took a deep breath before continuing. "There were a few trains that came out of City Seventeen. One of the leaders of the resistance movement was on one of them. Apparently he's leading them towards White Forest, so they could be coming through here. The Vorts said that his name was Calhen, or something…" Griggs nodded as though he understood, turning his head to face the tunnels for a moment. Sheckley patted the side of his arm with his fingertips as he looked at him. "What, you bored, or something?"

"No," Griggs quickly answered, softly drumming a beat on the side of his leg with his hand. "There's no more spray paint to color the hopper mines with, anyway."

Sheckley just shook his head as a response.

"Hey, Sheckley."  
"What?"  
"Do…do ya think Freeman's an antlion?"

Another sigh passed through Sheckley's lips as he slapped his forehead with the palm of his free hand.

"Yes, Griggs," he answered, turning his attention back towards the clueless resistance fighter. "Gordon Freeman…is an _antlion_." Griggs smiled to himself with pride, which he quickly wiped away as he had realized he had just been tricked.

"Oh, come _on_, Griggs!" Sheckley continued, shifting his weight back onto his feet. "Gordon was helping us _fight _the antlions. Now, _why _would he be fighting them if he _was _one? He doesn't even look like those damn bugs!"

Sheckley thought he saw Grigg's eyes open like a sad puppy.

"Yeah, that's true," he agreed, letting his head slightly bob with a nod. He walked over towards the wall closest to him, which he leaned on and dropped his body weight onto the floor.  
"…maybe he's a Vortigaunt."

Sheckley sighed to himself once again.

"Sheckley…"  
"What?"  
"Sheckley?"  
"_What?_"  
"Sheckley!"  
"For god's sake, Griggs, _what_? What could you _possibly _want?"

Silence quickly kicked in, interrupting the conversation for a few moments.  
"…forget it."

--

_I get the award for being the biggest Barney sap, ever. I think every single Half-Life one-shot I've done mentioned Barney at least once, in some way, shape, or form. In this case, Sheckley saying his name wrong. Yay me!_

_Sheckley and Griggs were great characters to experiment with, however I think I made Griggs sound more stupid rather than clueless...big appology for that, if that's the case! And I'm sorry if this isn't one of my bests; I'm hoping that my writer's block will go away soon, since I need to write a new chapter for my Sonic fanfiction series (it's been two months since the last chapter!)_

_Also, big appologies for the lack of updates with "Echoes of a Resonance Cascade"; believe me, I'm trying my best to think of ideas for it and get to writing! Also, I can't believe it's August already! I could've sworn it was June a little while ago...god, I can't even think about school starting again. And wow, the last chapter I released for this was the end of June? My days keep getting shot, since for some reason I wake up at noon every day, no matter what I do, therefor giving me less time to do what I want. Crap!_

_Hope you enjoyed this chapter, anyway! I mentioned something from the Episode Two commentary, also, and if you're a geek like me you might notice it. Thanks for reading, and hopefully I'll come out with some updates! Although, I have an idea that I'm just itching to try out for here...we'll see what happens._

_EDIT: Cheezeburgers' review made me realize that having Griggs think that Freeman was an antlion/Vort with no reason would make you guys confused. I sent a reply to him, and I'll post it here to prevent the rest of you from thinking the same:_

_"Unfortunetly, my writer's block was being too annoying to allow me to write why Griggs would think of such thoughts, so I had to leave it blank. He was supposed to think that way because of how paranoid he is when it comes to antlions, that maybe the reason why they had so many invasions was because Freeman himself was secretly an antlion, leading the other hordes to the base and commanding them to attack. After Sheckley tells him that the idea is, of course, stupid, he then thinks that he is a Vortigaunt, because of how many antlions they can kill, as though it's no problem. See, originally, I was going to have Sheckley and Griggs wonder things about Freeman, like why he never talks, how he doesn't need to use his hands to climb a ladder, how he can continue walking even after he had broken his leg, and so on. However, I decided to save that for a different story. _

_Admit it: If you saw Freeman, wouldn't you think, with all the stuff he could do, that he wasn't human? XD;;"_

_Hope that helps!_


	3. Mickey and Jim

_What's up, my fellow dudes of the Half-Life section? It's been a long time since I've written something! I've had this writer's block for the longest time, but I'm proud to say that I finally wrote something, and it came out rather long and lengthy! This is something I've been wanting to experiment with for a while, now. It's a test for one of the most important things for any author--character developement! I got the idea for this story after reading a comic. I told my friend about it, and she loved the idea, so a big, huge thanks to Rathey from deviantART for supporting this! Anyway, this is a story that follows two rebels around the coast, and if you've been checking my profile, you'd know that I've been doing an achievement run for Half-Life 2, and I was currently at that chapter. Highway 17 is my favorite one!_

_Anyway, I'm very proud to say that this story ranks in at an impressive length of 5,100 words and 13 pages! I'm proud of myself! Also, real sorry if I haven't reviewed any stories recently; blame school! But I thank you guys so much for reviewing my stories--I love getting them, positive or negative! Anyway, let's step on to the story!_

**_Based on: Half-Life 2 (Valve)  
Rating: K+. While I usually involve action in a story, this actually is completely different. I did use a little language, however.  
Author's Comments: For this story, I created two rebels who have interesting backstories. I wanted to remind readers that the rebels are still human, they still had a life before the Combine invasion. And that story does just that! Please enjoy!_**

**_--_**

"I think you can stop walking now."  
"Says who?"  
"Well, you've only been walking for…hours, or so."  
"Really?"  
"Seems like it. Look behind us…see? You can't see the city anymore."

The being's muscles began to ache as the realization of how long he was walking hit him like a train wreck. It was dark out when they first began to walk, right? Wish he knew when that was. He thought he saw the sun beginning to rise behind them, the pink hues of the sunrise painting colors across the sky. Then again, he could have walked into a completely new time zone for all he knew. The large buildings of the city had been replaced with the clouds of dawn and the ground they had traveled on for miles back in the distance. Not even the Citadel, that always seemed to be covered with the tips of the clouds, could be seen behind their current path.

"Are you even tired?" His friend seemed to ask him with a rather questionable tone towards his condition. It seemed as though the question was trying to send him a secret message, although the man's stubborn personality didn't seem to catch it.  
"No," he responded, taking a moment to stop and observe his surroundings. He gently scraped the top layer of his unshaven face as his color-drained blue eyes scanned the area. He could faintly make out the sound of…birds? Wow, it's been a long time since he's heard them. They seemed to be rather scarce around the cities. City Sixteen was rather quiet, every day and every night. Nobody ever talked. Only the Combine did, and even then it was just to give orders.  
"What?" his friend finally asked him, curious to what he was observing.  
"I think we've hit the coast," the rebel replied to him, catching a faint scent of salt water as it was carried by the wind.  
"We really walked that long?"  
"Guess so."  
"Wow. I thought by now the Combine would've caught us."

The rebel let his arms reach towards the sky to stretch, as he felt the blood in his veins rush towards his shoulders. He carried a revolver in a tight grip with one hand. For the entire time they were walking, his finger never seemed to leave the trigger. That didn't bother his traveling buddy in the slightest.

"Hey, Jim," his buddy asked, the tone of his voice not indicating any signs of exhaustion. "Aren't there some rebel camps near here?" Jim tapped the side of his lip rather slightly, as he tried to think of a reply.  
"I guess so," he just slipped by.  
"Well, you might as well find one of them. You _are_ a rebel, now, might as well join them."

Jim gently rubbed his thumb around the bullet hole of where he shot the Metro Cop that he stole his vest from.

"Yeah, I guess," he responded.  
"Plus, they've got supplies and shelter. And food. All you have is a small box of ammo."

Jim felt his stomach rumble as his companion mentioned the word "food".

"Hey, Mickey…"  
"Yeah?"  
"Did we pack any food?"  
"No."  
"…damn."

Jim slowly rubbed his gloved hand down his face, as he let out a sigh. He needed food. But that was something hard to find these days. The only animals he's ever seen were the birds, and he doubted that there would be a pig or something out here on the coast.

Damn, he could really go for ham. Just like Christmas dinner, with mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob and biscuits…

"Don't drive yourself nuts, Jim."  
Somehow Mickey could just tell what he was thinking.

With a crack of his joints, Jim continued to walk. Mickey stayed close to him.  
"I thought you were tired. Why are you still walking?" It seemed like Jim's condition was still bothering the hell out of Mickey.  
"If there's a rebel camp near by, I might as well get there," Jim just simply replied  
"You sure you're not tired, Jim?"  
"Mickey, look—I'll find the rebels first, and then I'll sleep if it will make you feel better."  
Mickey simply remained silent as a response.

Jim blinked as he let out another yawn. Damn, he really was pretty tired. His eyelids weren't getting heavy on him, were they?

"Hey, Mickey."  
"What?"  
"Get a conversation going."  
"About what?"  
"Hell, I don't know. Just think of something."

Mickey remained silent.

"I can't really think of anything," he responded, after a moment's pondering.  
"Fine, then ask me some questions, or something."  
"Ok." The two took a moment's silence before continuing. "Why'd you want to leave the city?"  
"Because I hate the Combine."  
"So? The Combine are out here, too."  
"Yeah, but hardly. Plus, I don't have to obey everything they say."  
"At least they gave you food."  
"That bag of crap was not food, Mickey."

Silence.

"…did you ever have a wife, Jim?"

Jim remained silent at the mention of that word. He let a grunt slip by his lips, as his eyes seemed to narrow.

"Nah," he responded, his expression looking stern.  
"No wife?"  
"No."  
"A girlfriend?"  
"Yeah, one." Jim quickly shot out a glob of spit onto the cracked concrete road before continuing. "But that was in senior year."  
"And how old are you now?"  
"Thirty-something."  
"You forgot your own birthday?"  
"Why would I celebrate it if everybody I knew died?"

The grim remark left Mickey completely silent.

"…what about a job?"  
"I worked at Best Buy for a few years."  
"Best Buy? Why there?"  
"Shut up, Mickey. It was the only way I could help pay for college."  
"What about your dream job?"  
"Hell, I don't know. I was thinking about something along the lines of a stuntman, or something."  
"Well, I think what you did back in the city counted for that."  
"I guess."

Jim grunted to himself as Mickey remained silent for another moment.

"I feel like an outlaw," Jim suddenly mentioned, patting the side of his waist with a simple rhythm.  
"We kind of are," Mickey responded. "At least, you are. You killed those cops."  
"Yeah, I know."

Jim slipped his dried tongue across the top of his lips. They were dry, cracked. Just like the earth. Ha. He'd never thought he'd use that comparison in a coastal area, before.

"This reminds me of a movie, or something," he suddenly let out.  
"What movie?"  
"I dunno, Mickey, just _a_ movie. It feels like movie material."

He could tell Mickey was probably confused.

"Think of it this way," Jim began, spreading his fingers out in front of him as he made a few hand gestures with his free hand. "We're two outlaws—"  
"No, you're the outlaw."  
"I'm just imagining, Mickey. Don't take it seriously. Anyway, so we've been stuck in jail for who knows how long, and we finally bust out."  
"So, I guess City Sixteen is supposed to be the jail?"  
"Yup."  
"Ok."  
"So, now we're on the run with nothing but each other and the clothes on our backs—"  
"Except you have the revolver."  
"Right, and we're dodging cops this way an' that. But let's say that one of them captures us—"  
"God, I hope not."  
"—and asks us what the hell we're doing. We shout back, 'We're just gaining back our freedom!' and shoot him down."  
"Well, aren't you pleasant."  
"Don't blame me, blame Hollywood. If the Combine didn't kill it, I'm sure we'd be millionaires if we sent them our idea."  
"You mean your idea."

The conversation took another pause.

"God, it's like a ghost town here," Jim muttered. He kicked a rock on the road as his eyes scanned the deserted beach to the side of him. "Where're all the chicks?"  
"Do you really have to think about that now?"  
"I told you I never had a wife."  
"Now's not the time to find one."  
"Says who?"  
"The Combine…?"  
"Whatever, Mickey. I need someone to talk to."

Jim yawned once again after Mickey's lack of a response let his drowsiness rush back into his skull.

"I'm telling you, you should rest." Mickey sounded rather annoyed, now.  
"I'm fine."  
"No, you're not."  
"Yes, I am. Look, if you want to keep me awake, than keep the conversation going."  
"But I don't even know what to talk about anymore."  
"Just think of something."  
"Alright, fine." Mickey paused before saying, "So, where did you used to live?"  
"Jersey. I was in college when the Seven Hour War happened."  
"Really?"  
"Yeah, I was a freshman."  
"Where'd you go to college?"  
"Hell, like I remember. That was over a decade or two."  
"It's really been that long?"  
"I think."

A bird flew overhead of the two, letting out a slight caw as it passed by them. It glided towards the distance, back towards the rising sun. Light was beginning to creep onto the road, making Jim squint his eyes as they adjusted to the sudden change.

"Y'know, I saw a really good looking chick back at City Sixteen," he began.  
"Didn't we already end this topic?" Mickey questioned.  
"She was so beautiful, Mickey…and a blondie, too. A long haired blondie. I hardly see blondies anymore."  
"Ok…?"  
"Her eyes were so gorgeous…big, big brown ones. They practically sparkled like dew in the sunlight."  
"Well aren't you quite the poet."  
"And her lips were so, so red. She was natural beauty, Mickey. I'd call it her makeup's fault, but there ain't any of that anymore."  
"She sounds nice."  
"Not to mention her body…you had to see her hips, man. They way the swung…" Jim took a deep breath as he could almost feel the soft skin of the woman on his rough fingers.  
"Did you ever talk to her?" Mickey suddenly asked. Jim shook his head, as new emotions slipped through his mind.  
"…no," he responded, after taking a small breath. "I told you, Mickey, nobody ever talked in City Sixteen. If you were caught talking to each other, even just a word, you'd be shot dead."  
"…oh," Mickey responded, his voice lacking any emotion. Perhaps there was a slight feeling of pity, but Jim didn't exactly seem to notice it.  
"I only saw her a couple 'a times, anyway," Jim continued, rubbing his thumb on the barrel of the revolver. "I saw her get taken…away…by the Combine, before we left."  
"What do you mean by that?"  
"Well, she was in front of me once on the crap line—"  
"What's the crap line?"  
"It's like the lunch line, only, like I said before, the Combine's food is crap, so it was more of a crap line."  
"Ok then."  
"So, anyway, she was just about to get her bag of crap…even just the back of her body looked so beautiful…when one of the cops came and took her away, towards the trains."  
"Think she got relocated?"  
Jim took a deep breath, as he changed his attention towards the sky.  
"God, I hope that's all they did to her."

It seemed as though they had been walking forever, now. That entire time, Jim never seemed to notice any signs of the rebels…not even a Lambda cache. Nothing but road, dirt, and sand.

"I wonder where the hell everybody is," he suddenly asked nothing in particular.  
"Maybe the Combine got 'em?" Mickey questioned.  
"Mickey, stop making me think like that. We're lucky enough to even still be alive right now. I don't know how the hell we escaped the city, but I ain't getting my ass sent back there after we came this far."  
"I thought as much."  
"Seriously, though…I haven't seen any signs of rebels around here."  
"You sure they're around here?"  
"Hell yes, Mickey, I'm sure. I made sure I was sure before we left. Think I would just take a free run outta there without a plan?"  
"I wouldn't be surprised if you did."  
"I still have half my mind."  
"What makes you say that?"  
"I mean, most others in the city just kinda take off and run. No guns, no defense, nothing. Nothing but the speed their god gave them."  
"You've seen them run, before?"  
"Yeah, actually. One of the guys I shared a room with hail-tailed it one day. Saw him get shot down on the pavement basically as soon as he made a run for it."  
"Really?" Mickey seemed to ask the question with sympathy slipping into his voice.  
"Yup. I wanted to tell him, 'Listen man, I wanna get out of here as much as you do, but doing that is just gonna flat-out kill ya', but of course, he got shot before I could share my advice."  
"And now he's dead."  
"Yup, now he's dead."

Mickey remained silent for a moment longer. Odd how they often took pauses between each conversation.

"Did'ja ever wonder how the Metro Cops gotta feel when they're killing people like that?" Mickey suddenly asked, sparking up a new conversation. Jim sighed for a moment, grabbing the edges of his belt with his thumbs.  
"Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't," the rebel replied, looking towards his boots as they continued to cover the land with footsteps. "Metro Cops are guys who _offered _to work for the Combine. If they knew this work would kill them on the inside, then why would they sign up for it?"  
"Good point."  
"It's like asking for suicide, in its own way." Jim changed his attention back towards the road ahead. "I mean, maybe they were murderers before the Seven Hour War happened. Maybe they're psycho-paths. Maybe they're outlaws, like us. Maybe that's why they don't care if they shoot someone down like that."  
"We're not really outlaws, though. We were just gettin' back our freedom, like you said," Mickey corrected.  
"Yeah, but…" Jim took a quick sigh as he continued, "we're the good kind 'a outlaws."  
"There's a good kind?"  
"Well, yeah," Jim responded, stretching his arms out towards the side of his body and feeling his joints within his elbows crack. "Think about it this way, Mickey. If somebody, like the Combine, are about to take our lives, wudda'ya gonna do? Let them do it?"  
"No."  
"Exactly. You'd fight back, right? So, we're goin' against the law right there. But the Combine's laws aren't very fair. I mean, they hardly even care about us humans. So, we rebelled, we fought our way outta there, and now we're here."  
"And that makes us the good kind of outlaws?"  
"Yeah, 'cause we fought for our freedom. It's like the Jews fighting back Hitler."  
"The Jews fought back?"  
"I dunno, Mickey, the last time I learned about that stuff was back in eighth grade."

Jim took a moment to pause the conversation, this time. He could feel a small breeze brush past his rough-skinned and dirty face as scents of the sea was carried with it.

"Funny how history repeats itself," he suddenly thought aloud. "The Combine's invasion kinda goes along with World War II."  
"Only we lost."  
"Right, Mickey. Only we lost. But hey, think about it: doesn't Breen kinda remind you of Hitler?"  
"The fact that they both have mustaches, yes."  
"So? I've got a 'stache too."  
"You do?"  
"A growing one, at least. Anyway, Breen surrendered for us and practically gave the Combine the ok to kill any of us for no particular reason. They limit our rights, they limit our freedom, they limit our ability to live."  
"Actually, they just kinda took all of it away instead of restricting it."  
"Exactly. But my point it, we're kinda like the Jews. They hardly got a chance to enjoy life. We can't even do that anymore. The blondie's eye-candy was basically all I got to enjoy outta life these days."  
"Nobody knows how to live anymore."  
"Right, Mickey. Nobody knows how to live anymore. So, anyway, the Jews had to wear those star-things on their clothes to show that they were the victims of those sufferings, and we have to wear those freakin' dirty clothes that seemed like a prisoner's suit."  
"It probably was."  
"Yeah, it probably was. They probably hijacked it from the prisons around here after they won the war."  
"You're still wearing that outfit, though."  
"Yeah, but now it's different, Mickey. See, once you kill a Metro Cop, ya' steal their belts and vests and place it right on. Don't matter what's underneath, all people gotta know is that you've got a vest, you've got proof that you've killed a cop. Next thing ya need is a Lambda."  
"Why a Lambda?"  
"I dunno, I just know that rebels have been using that as their symbol…insignia…thing. I think it had something to do with Black Mesa."  
"You mean the place that started this whole thing?"  
"Hey, don't worry, Mickey, it wasn't their fault. Can't kill a man for being curious."  
"A little _too _curious, if you ask me."  
"Yeah, I guess."  
"Didn't some famous guy work there?"  
"Yeah, Gordon Freeman. He somehow lived through it all, despite the fact that basically everything alive…n' dead, if you count the zombies, wanted to kill him."  
"Why's he so famous?"  
"He killed the leader of the Xen alien-guys, apparently."  
"Where's he now?"  
"Who knows. Could be dead, could've been in City Sixteen for all we know."  
"What about the rest of the people working at Black Mesa?"  
"Dunno. Lucky bastards if they made it out in one piece, though."

Jim could feel his ears perk up as he thought he heard a whistling in the distance, not too far off. He soon had the feeling to slap himself in the face when he realized it was just the damn wind playing tricks on him.

Looks like he had his hopes set too high.

"Did'ja ever want kids, Jim?" Mickey continued with the twenty questions.  
"Ehh," Jim managed to let out, shrugging slightly. "I wasn't exactly sure. I mean, that was something I was waiting to suggest to my wife."  
"If you had one."  
"I get it Mickey, I get it."  
"What kind 'a kid would you want, though?"  
"I dunno, probably a son."  
"Named?"  
"I was thinking of either Kyle or Paul."  
"What about Mike, or something?"  
"Mickey, that name is pretty damn common."  
"So? Ain't Jim pretty common, too?"  
"Nah, actually. I only met a few other guys with my name."  
"What about if it was a girl?"  
"That's something the wife would figure out."  
"Oh, c'mon, you must like at least _one _girl's name."

Jim stayed silent for a moment.

"Kayla always caught me as a sorta interestin' name."  
"I'll give you credit for originality."  
"I wonder if the blondie's name was Kayla."  
"You're still thinking about her?"  
"Pretty hard to forget a figure like that, Mickey."  
"Yeah, I guess."  
"It's one of those 'you had to see it in order to understand how amazing she was' kind of girls."  
"Think she'd be your wife if you asked her?"  
"That ain't how love works, Mickey. You don't just go up to a chick and tell her, 'Hey, want to have kids?' It's a lot more complicated!"  
"I imagine."  
"Yeah, women are pretty impossible, now that I think about it…" Jim rubbed the edge of his chin, as he said, "finding my girlfriend was just sorta pure luck."  
"What was she like, Jim?"  
"Ahh man." Jim felt a slight shiver shake his body as he wrapped his arms around himself. "God, she was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Her hair was light brown, like milk chocolate, always up in a pony tail…but if you saw her with her hair down, she looked absolutely amazing. Her eyes were so gorgeous…they were the bluest eyes I've ever seen, Mickey. It was if her irises were sapphires themselves."  
"Wow…she does sound rather beautiful."  
"Oh, but Mickey, you ain't even heard the most of it. Her lips tasted just like a Jolly Rancher…I'd kiss her half the time just for a taste of those juicy lips. And her body was just…wow. Perfect figure, Mickey. Perfect figure. It was a wonderland on its own."  
"Ain't that a song?"  
"Hell, like I know."  
"What was her name?"

Jim gently gripped his bottom lip between his jaws.

"Oh god, it was so long ago…" He gently patted the side of his head as he tried to shove out any thoughts or memories he might have had of her. He suddenly snapped his fingers as he exclaimed, "Samantha Katherine, yes! That was her name!"  
"An interesting one, at that," Mickey replied, as a smile soon appeared on Jim's face.  
"Yeah. Basically everybody that knew her called her Sammy Kat. Even the teachers."  
"That's interesting."  
Jim let in a long sigh through his nostrils.  
"Yeah," he said, his voice sounding as though it let out memories of the old days. "God, what a great girl…"  
"What about the rest of your friends?"  
"Only two of my buds were worth mentioning."  
"What about the rest?"  
"Well, Mickey, when the end of the world hits ya, people kinda go nuts."  
"…oh."  
"Anyway, Dan and Ty were my two main guys."  
"What were they like?"  
"Well, Dan always had some kind 'a crazy stuff going on at his house." Jim cracked his fingers as he continued. "One day he'd come to my house with a black eye 'cause of a fight he had with his brother, another day he'd come to school soaking wet, even though it was sixty degrees and sunny out, so it was too cold to swim and he couldn't blame the rain, and one time he almost brought in _Playboy_, but his dad caught him looking at it and stole it for himself."  
"Wow, he sounded pretty insane. And his dad, for that matter."  
"Yeah. Not even _we_ would know what the hell he does when we're not around. He didn't really tell us anything, but that kinda keeps the whole mysterious charm goin' about him."  
"What about Ty?"  
"Ty was like the sweetest guy you'd ever meet. You could freakin' punch him in the face, and he'd only laugh as if it was a joke. He was the kind 'a guy you could always depend on. You needed money? He'd ask how much. You needed to stay over? He'd leave school early to get things set up the just the way you like it. Guy never did any wrong."  
"Wow. He sounds like a good friend."  
"Yeah, he was. He wasn't really that much of a party-goer, though, but he was always up for a good time. Guy knows how to live life the right way."  
"What about Dan?"  
"Well, Dan lived his life in his own…uhh…'special' way."  
"I see."

Jim sighed once again, as he realized daylight had begun to stain the ground. Once again, his weariness seemed to leak into his mind, as his eyelids closed for a second, which he immediately snapped open.

"Not a day goes by where I miss the old days," he muttered. Not really at Mickey, just at the world in general. Mickey remained silent. So did Jim. But he soon felt like screaming with joy when he realized what was ahead of him.

Holy crap, it was a house! A very run-down one, at that—the white paint of its siding chipping off, its windows boarded up, and its doors looking like the wind would tear it right off. But that didn't make a difference to him at all—he couldn't stop smiling when he realized what was to the side of the door.

A lambda.

"Sweet hallelujah!" he nearly sang, beginning to run towards the door with the little strength his legs had left in them. His joy didn't exactly overcome his paranoia, though, as he still kept the revolver in a tight grip. He hastily banged his knuckles on the door, thoughts of finally getting sleep and food beginning to make him feel impatient. A tiny slip of the door slid over to reveal a pair of dull, hazel eyes.

The eyes seemed to scan the view before it, as a feminine grunt was soon released. Then the slip of the door slid back into place.

"Well…they've got great manners here, don't they?" Mickey muttered after nothing seemed to happen for a moment.  
"Watch out, Mickey, I think I just got shot in the heart," Jim replied, letting out a sigh mixed with emotions of misery and frustration.  
"Should we…continue on?" Mickey sounded rather unsure of what they could do.  
"Yeah, I guess," Jim sighed, beginning to turn around on his heels. That's when a smile was slapped across his tired face as he heard the sound of creaky hinges.

"Hey," said a woman before them, as she opened the door. She didn't really say the word with any emotion—it seemed like she said it for the sake of saying it. She wore a Metro Cop vest with a Lambda spray-painted in the center of her chest. A green beanie trapped her dark hair from slipping into her face. If it wasn't obvious, she was a rebel. "Get in here."

With no further words, Jim paraded into the bleak house, Mickey still close to him. He holstered his revolver as he made it inside. About four others were in the house—two of them were sitting on a sun-bleached red sofa, one a man and the other a woman. The man had his arm slung around the woman's back, moving his hand back and forth gently, as if to comfort the woman, who was starring at the floor with a lack of facial expression. A man lay on a mattress on the ground at the right side of the house, moaning as his legs moved up and down. His hands were placed on the side of his chest—they appeared blood-stained. Another man sat on a tall stool not too far from the entrance, near what looked to be a counter in a walk-in kitchen. He looked at the door with uneasy eyes, his fingers twitching as it seemed he was tempted to grab a gun and shoot. The woman closed the door after Mickey and Jim had entered.

For a moment, an awkward silence. The other rebels in the house looked at Jim with mixed emotions, only the man on the ground ignored him, as he continued to squirm in his pain. The woman continued to stare at the ground, but the man next to her quickly glimpsed at the newcomers.

"Where're you from?" the man at the counter asked, placing his arms on his legs, while clasping his hands together. His tone sounded a little demanding.  
"City Sixteen," Jim replied, looking directly at the man. He didn't exactly like the look he was receiving from him, but that was only natural in the paranoid world they lived in now.  
"Let me see this," the woman behind him said, tugging on the sack on Jim's back and quickly removing it. "Name?" she asked, as she walked over to the kitchen counter.  
"Jim," the rebel replied, as he watched the woman look through his bag. Mickey stayed silent throughout the conversation.  
"You alone?" the man asked, slouching over.  
"Nah. I've got a travelin' bud."  
"And he is…where?"  
The man watched, his face still uneasy, as Jim pointed towards the woman. The man shook his head.  
"Jim, was it?" he asked, as he quickly murmured something to himself. "That's not your '_traveling buddy_'. She was the one who let you in, remember?"  
"No, not her." He pointed again at the woman. "In the bag."  
The man raised a brow at the odd statement. The woman did, as well.  
"Sir," she began, changing her attention to focus on the man. "There's nothing in here but a box of ammo for a .357."  
"No. Mickey's in there." Jim walked over towards the confused woman. He thought he heard a click as he passed by the man, as he realized he had upholstered his handgun. His finger remained off the trigger, however. Jim snagged the bag from the woman, reaching in and pulling out an object that made the other two look at them with emotions Jim was unable to recognize.

"Sir, that's a…boot," the woman said rather bluntly, as silence took a pause in the conversation for a moment.  
"No it's not. It's Mickey."  
"_No_, that is a _boot_," the man began, his voice sounding partly annoyed, as he got up from the chair and walked towards the two. He grabbed the boot from Jim's hands, examining it quickly.  
"No, I'm telling you, that's my traveling buddy. He kept a game of twenty questions going on, basically, the entire time we walked here!"  
"Mickey…?" the woman asked, in a rather sarcastic tone. "He…_talks_…to you."  
"Well, yeah. Go on, Mickey, say something."

The other two didn't seem surprised when the boot said nothing.

"Jim," the woman began, stepping a bit closer towards the confused rebel. "Did you say you were from City Sixteen?"  
"Yes."  
"Did anybody really…_talk_ to you, while you were there?" Jim stayed silent for a moment, as he looked away from the two.  
"…no," he admitted, with a tone of guilt, as though he was a young boy who had just broken a vase his parents had bought years ago.

"I knew it," the woman whispered, as she changed her attention towards the man. "I've seen this happen before. People go a little insane when they go without human contact for a while—looks like he found this boot and became connected to it. People's minds will think that objects will begin to start talking to them when they begin to get desperate to talk to someone. Looks like Mister…Jim, here, thought that this boot was talking to him." The man nodded as he listened, turning the boot slightly and examining it quickly, once again.

Jim looked as though he was just stabbed in the heart. Mickey? Just a figment of his imagination? He just made him up because he was desperate to talk to someone?

He stared at the boot with widened eyes. The other two rebels just looked at him, their minds lost as they had no idea what to do.

"I'm…I'm sorry," Jim muttered, his voice seeming to quaver a little. "I just need to…rest."  
"Uhh…sure," the man replied, jerking his thumb behind him. "You can go ahead and sleep on that couch over there." Jim nodded, walking away from the two.

"Poor guy," the woman muttered to the other rebel, as Jim laid down on another red sofa, in front of the pair of rebels. "Must be hard knowing your best friend's a boot."  
"Yeah," the man replied, shaking his head. "Well, when he wakes up, we'll get the rest of the details from him. Until then…" He gently placed Mickey on the counter. "'Mickey can stay right here."

--

_Well, did I surprise you guys? That's right, Mickey is a boot! I wanted to use a story to see if I could connect the reader with the characters, should something happen to them later. Like, if you guys were connected to Mickey, then it would be a bigger surprise to know that he was a boot. Well, was it? Please let me know--I was aiming to make you guys shocked, and to get attached to the characters._

_It felt really...odd, for me, to describe how Jim felt about girls, since I am one myself. I hope I did a good enough job, while still keeping it clean! Writing this story was a little hard, I'll admit-- I couldn't think of what the two could be talking about, half the time. Still, I hope it came out that, you know, they're still humans, they still had a life._

_Well, thanks a lot for taking the time to read all of this! I hope you enjoyed it! And is anybody else but me wondering why there're no blondes in Half-Life 2?_


End file.
